


12/13

by foramomentonly



Series: Vlambase Promo Photo Series (aka Stoner Malex series) [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Background Rosabel, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, M/M, Malex, Stoner Malex, Teen Malex, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Relationships: Isabel Evans/Rosa Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Vlambase Promo Photo Series (aka Stoner Malex series) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064402
Comments: 35
Kudos: 73





	12/13

The wheel of the lighter snicks three times as Michael flicks it, but no flame ignites. He tsks softly and shakes it, tries again, but his fingers feel thick and clumsy; no go. He glances over at Alex beside him on the couch, flipping with little interest through one of Mrs. Evans's magazines, but he doesn't look up, tired and a little dazed from his shift at the Crashdown. He's still in his cuffed, white work pants, but he pulled on one of Michael's countless hoodies the moment he walked into Michael's room, hating the garish turquoise and crisp white collar of his work shirt. Michael's cheeks flush at the sight of Alex Manes in an item of his own clothing, and he vows never to tell Alex that he actually loves the contrast of his uniform's bright blue against the warm tone of Alex's skin. Assuming Alex would even be interested in that kind of information. Michael intends to find out today.

Three weeks. It's been three weeks since Alex slid into his lap, shotgunned a hit of the truly awful shit Michael had bought off Wyatt Long in a pinch, and fulfilled a deeply erotic fantasy Michael had only recently admitted to harboring. He'd expected it to be a one off; an itch Alex conveniently and safely scratched born of circumstance and boredom. But a few days later, Michael discovered Rosa in Iz’s room, painting his sister's toenails and smirking at him with her twinkling, mischievous eyes, and when Michael returned to the refuge of his patio, Alex was sitting in his chair.

"I brought you the good stuff, Guerin," he said with a sly smile, holding up a baggie with two joints and a Bic lighter as Michael stood uselessly beside him with his mouth open. Alex bit his lip and gestured to his own lap. "Your turn this time."

Even since that day, Alex shows up with Rosa, and always he seeks Michael out on his dingy patio like the smell of skunk weed and sunlight is a beacon calling him home. Sometimes Alex drops into the lawn chair Michael dug out of storage in the Evans's garage for him after Alex's third visit and they talk, or get high, or even do homework. Other times, Alex comes up behind him and runs his fingers through Michael's curls, blunt nails dragging down his scalp, and Michael stands, follows Alex back into his own bedroom, and spends the next few hours pressed against him, grasping and bucking, Alex's panted breathes hot and wet against Michael's mouth.

But they don’t talk about what they’re doing, what they are to each other. They don’t make plans for next time, although at this point Michael is almost always certain it will come. Alex exists almost as a mirage; a beautiful, nearly tangible fantasy that feels so real in the moment, but after the fact has the effect of a dream, lucid and lingering on the tip of his tongue. Michael isn't even sure how much either Rosa or Isobel knows until they bust in on him one afternoon, sucking Alex down like his dick is a popsicle. It's awkward in the moment, but ultimately they're supportive.

Since then, Michael and Alex have expanded the radius of their relationship to the Evans’s family room, a multipurpose space at the back of the house, cluttered and well-used, but still meticulously decorated. It’s where they are this Sunday afternoon, packed close together despite the empty expanse of the couch, Alex lounging in the corner, bare feet on the cushion and legs splayed wide, and Michael beside him, leaning forward with a candle in one hand and the finicky lighter in the other. Rosa and Isobel are tucked on the love seat together, Isobel’s nose still wrinkled in distaste.

“Light a damn candle,” she’d complained when they’d shuffled into the room, “you smell like a Radiohead concert.”

Michael isn't sure if it's his nerves or the cheap, gas station lighter that's to blame, but it takes him five rounds of flicking and shaking before the thing finally sparks a small flame, and he can tip the nearly spent candle in his hand horizontal, holding the wick to the flame until it catches alight. He sets the candle on the low coffee table in front of him and wipes his palms on his black jeans, fingers snagging in the tears of the worn denim. He wonders hysterically if raggedly jeans and an oversized, novelty tee-shirt really send strong _date me_ vibes, but pushes the thought aside and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Alex,” Michael says softly, and Alex hums questioningly in response.

“You wanna come with me tonight?”

“Where’re you going?” Alex asks distantly, not quite disengaging from the magazine on his knee.

Michael shrugs, faking casual, and licks his lips.

“Restaurant. Movie theatre.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and smirks when Alex looks up at him, his full attention finally won. “Bed of my truck, maybe.”

From the opposite corner of the room, Rosa snorts.

“You sure know how to woo a guy,” she laughs, and Isobel chuckles, runs her fingers through Rosa’s hair and chides gently, “Go easy on him. It’s his first real crush.”

"I don't remember inviting you or your commentary into this," Michael snaps, but there's no heat to his words. He turns back to Alex and finds himself the subject of Alex's inscrutable stare, his dark eyes like wide, bottomless pools.

"Like a date," Alex states. "You want to date me."

Michael tries to ignore Isobel and Rosa gawking openly at them, their gazes hot on the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I do, man," Michael replies, looks up at Alex from under his lashes and lets a curl fall into his eyes for good measure; he knows his own strengths, knows by now what makes Alex's breath come quicker, or not at all.

Alex smiles wide, sets the tip of his tongue between his bared teeth.

"Okay," he says simply, then leans forward to whisper low in Michael's ear, "You think I walk around in just anyone's sweatshirt?"

Michael's lips stretch into what he's sure is a deeply stupid grin as Alex settles back against the arm of the couch with a smirk and returns to his magazine, though he's clearly not reading a word. Isobel and Rosa snicker and coo, and Michael pretends not to hear them.

"Candle's out again," Alex says lightly, and Michael looks down at the table, where the wick is, in fact, dead, exhaling a thin, trickly ribbon of black smoke.

"Shit," Michael murmurs, and reaches again for the lighter, jar already in hand.


End file.
